LAUGHTER AND SHOUTED greetings could be heard out in the clearing. Philippa was returning with Tom, and it sounded as though Alice and her husband were with them.
Agnes got to her feet, and rolled up her sleeves ready to return to her work. ‘Now tha knows the truth, lovey. Right or wrong, ’tis what happened, and cannot be undone. Can tha try to understand his ignorant way?’
Marian frowned and nodded. ‘Aye, maybe I can.’
There was a great deal of noise and chatter and explaining to be done. None of the other women was surprised that Agnes should have a son, and Robert was clucked and fussed over to his heart’s content.
He said no more to Marian – indeed, he ignored her – and she kept out of his way, quietly getting on with the dreary chores, fetching the water, gathering wood, and feeding the animals.
Two days passed, and Robert looked much better. He still winced and groaned when he moved or twisted; but his colour returned, and he did much chattering with Emma and Philippa. He told them tales of the short time he’d spent in the Sheriff’s pay; the mischief he and his friends had revelled in, and the chaos they’d caused. Emma listened shyly, smiling and hesitant. Philippa pinched his cheeks and slapped his leg. She said he was a grand lad, for the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire was known even in Langden for his meanness and cruelty.
Once Marian carried a pitcher of water into the hut when they were talking. She felt a sudden hush as she entered, and noticed the tailing off of Philippa’s voice. ‘ . . . without her I’d have been branded, you see.’
There was an awkward silence as Marian poured the water into a bowl. Then, as she turned, Philippa spoke up with her usual openness. ‘We’ve been telling Robert how you stole me away from Langden stocks.’
Robert grinned shamefaced, and looked away.
‘Oh . . . have you now,’ said Marian, and went outside as quickly as she could.
It was on the third day that Marian again had the feeling that they were being watched. The same low murmur of voices, and slipping away of shadows amongst the trees. She went about her tasks as usual, ignoring her suspicions, but when the first glooms of evening fell, she set off as though leaving the clearing, wrapped in her green cloak and hood. She hadn’t gone far before she turned round, kicked off her boots, and tucked them under her arm.
She had learned to move through the forest like a lithe green ghost, treading soundlessly through the undergrowth, her long dark cloak echoing the shapes and shades of the woodland. Stealthily she returned to the clearing, moving towards the great yew. Such a tree offered shelter from wind and rain, and a soft matting of dried leaves beneath.
There they were, just where she thought they’d be, a big man with wide shoulders, sitting with his back against the trunk of the yew, and a smaller man hunched beside him on the ground. Marian smiled, she thought she knew the small man . . . and she certainly had no fear of him.
Closer she moved, and closer still; then silently sat down between them.
The big man leapt to his feet, light and quick as a wild cat. He whipped a knife from his belt.
‘Nay,’ she screamed, terrified by her stupidity. ‘I know thee. ’Tis Robert of Loxley tha seeks. I’ve news of him.’
‘What news?’ The big man caught her round the back of the neck, his great height lifting her from her feet, his breath stale in her face. The sharp blade of the knife pressed against her throat.
‘He is there in the cottage, with his mother. And I know you,’ she grabbed at the small man’s kirtle. ‘You are from Holt Cornmill. They call you Muchlyn, Maud and Harry’s son.’
‘Aye . . . tha knows me right enough,’ his voice faltered with surprise, ‘but who art thou? Leave her be, John, and let her speak.’ Muchlyn pushed back the steady clenched hand that held the knife at her throat.
‘I am Marian, I live with the Forestwife.’
‘Th’art . . . the lady. John . . . she is the one, the one that ran away from Holt.’
John laughed and set her on her feet again. He sheathed his knife. ‘Tha’art a fool, m’lady, to creep up so on John of Hathersage – but tha’s a fearless fool, I’ll say that for thee.’
Marian breathed out and rubbed her throat, trying to snatch back a bit of dignity. ‘I came to say . . . to tell thee both, that there’s shelter and food in the cottage of the Forestwife.’
The two men followed her out of the undergrowth, and warily went with her to the cottage door. The big man towered above her, but Marian could see when the candlelight caught his face that he was nothing but a great, strong, overgrown lad. As soon as they saw Robert looking well and comfortable, they set their suspicions aside.
‘We lost thee, Rob,’ cried Muchlyn. ‘We saw thee jump from the steps, and we took our chance to run, while they followed thee. We knew tha’d seek the Forestwife – if tha lived.’
Both lads had suffered a battering and bruising in the fight that had ended their service with the Sheriff of Nottinghamshire. Muchlyn limped and groaned as he set his foot to the ground. Agnes was soon mashing a comfrey poultice and wrapping up his leg.
‘Why, lad, how has tha managed to walk so far on that?’
Muchlyn laughed, and thumped the big man’s thigh. ‘I had a great ox to carry me. I call him Little’un for he’s so tall. He calls me Big’un.’
John laughed and thumped him back, making Much’s eyes water, so that they all had to smile and shake their heads.
Robert struggled to his feet, though he winced with the pain. He made play of grabbing John by the neck, grinning into his face.
‘Want some fight, big man . . . pick on me.’
‘Be still,’ said Agnes, ‘or I cannot mend this lad’s leg . . . sparring like young wolves.’ She clicked her tongue.
Marian backed away, crouching in the shadowy corner.
‘Tha’d best show Rob what else I carried,’ said John, his face bright with excitement. ‘I swore and blasted at him that he was so heavy for such a little ’un. Show him, Much.’
Muchlyn’s eyes shone, and his dirty face cracked into a great grin. Slowly, from inside his kirtle he drew out a glinting silver cup, and then a platter, and then another cup, and more plates, all wrought in the finest chastened silver.
The whole company drew breath as each piece was revealed.
Robert put out his hand to touch and take one cup. He gave a cruel laugh. Marian shivered at the sound of it.
‘Now Much, tha’s made theesen into a thief. Tha’s wolf indeed. Wolfshead now, the same as me.’
‘Aye.’ Muchlyn grinned, pleased at that.
Agnes found ale that she’d brewed from a gift of grain, and there was gossip and laughing and storytelling till late into the night.
They stayed in the Forestwife’s clearing for two days. Robert was on his feet and walking well, and Much hobbled nimbly, supported on a stick that John shaped into a crutch. At first they were busy cutting great staves for longbows from the straightest branches of the yews, and ash staves for their arrows. They gathered up the feathers from the hens and geese, shouting with pleasure at the fine fletchings they’d make.
But on the second day they gathered by the doorstep, cuffing each other and sparring restlessly and getting in the way. They ate as though they thought they’d never see another meal, shouting foul oaths at each other all the while, hopeless and uncomfortable at the sight of the miserable procession of those who sought the Forestwife.
Tom hovered around them, listening to their yarns, copying their oaths, refusing his work, and leaving Marian to do the chores. John would follow Emma in her round of tasks, attempting to help her stack the wood that she tirelessly replaced when each slow charcoal burning was done. He did not tease her or touch her, but it was plain to see that she shrank away from him.
Agnes watched them all anxiously, rubbing her stiff fingers, and shaking her head and clicking her tongue. Suddenly it was clear that they could not go on as they were.
Agnes caught hold of Philippa’s arm. ‘’Tis no good,’ she said. ‘We must be rid of them.’
‘Aye.’
Philippa firmly took John aside, and Agnes called Robert into the lean-to.
Marian watched from the cottage doorway as Philippa wagged her head and folded her arms, speaking solemnly to John. She could not hear what was said, but the big lad listened well, his face serious. Philippa pointed to the tiny grave beside Selina’s.
Then Agnes called Marian inside. Mother and son sat close together, Robert looking none too pleased. ‘These lads are on their way,’ said Agnes. ‘They are well enough to fend for themselves. Well enough to be looking to cause trouble here.’
Marian said nothing, though she was glad enough to hear it.
Agnes got up, and Robert awkwardly followed her.
‘Come here, both.’
Agnes stood between them, taking each one by the hand. She spoke slowly and seriously. ‘You two are the ones that I love best in all the world. T’would be a blessing on me, if you could manage to agree.’
They stood in silence for a moment, Robert and Marian both red-faced and staring at the ground.
‘Well?’
‘Aye,’ they both muttered and nodded their heads. Then, very stiff and formal, Robert bowed to Marian, and just as stiffly she dropped a curtsy to him.
All the women gathered to see them go.
‘Where will you be heading?’ asked Agnes, anxious again.
‘South,’ said Robert. ‘South, to where the great road passes through the forests. Full of rich travellers it is, yet close to Sherwood bounds, so that we may not starve for lack of venison.’
‘Aye,’ said John. ‘We shall do well enough there for a while.’
Agnes sighed. ‘I do not wish to nurse thee for a severed hand, or hear tha’s died in Nottingham gaol.’
Robert hugged her and laughed.
‘They’d have to catch us first, Mother. We are too fast and fine for them. And we have other plans that might find us a shelter and food for the winter.’
‘Oh aye, and where might that shelter be?’
‘We think of going north to Howden Manor, for we hear the Bishop of Durham is gathering fighting men there. Old though he is, he’s loyal to Richard still, and he’s making ready to take Tickhill Castle from Count John.’
‘Can tha find naught to do but fight, lads?’ Philippa shook her head.
‘Nay,’ they laughed. ‘What else is there for such as us?’
John bowed to Agnes. ‘I thank thee for our rest and food. We will not linger here, for you have strange sad ghosts that cry and moan about your forest. Isn’t that right, Much?’
‘Aye. John fears nowt, but he got the shivers when he heard the weeping that’s carried in the wind. It came to us beneath the branches of your great yew.’
With much waving and calling the three lads went on their way, but Marian turned away from the others as they saw them off. She went back into the clearing, heading straight towards the tallest tree, her eyes sharp for every movement, listening for the slightest sound.
